


Savior Complex, Survivor's Guilt

by hueue



Series: my oh see shit [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Second Person, canon-typical me being mean to my ocs, this is my car and I get to choose the music, wrote this for me but yall can read it to ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 22:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hueue/pseuds/hueue
Summary: On a roof, with somebody you'll never meet.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Female Character
Series: my oh see shit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214528
Kudos: 18





	Savior Complex, Survivor's Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> therapy? expensive  
> projection? free

Dora asked me when we were sitting on her roof yesterday, “Do you feel bad about your friend?” 

She said ‘your friend’ but I knew she was talking about you, Erika. Dora never says your name whenever she mentions you, always ‘your friend back in Washington’ or ‘your friend who passed’, I think she’s trying to be sensitive but sometimes it just makes me feel like you’re already a fading ghost, destined to be one of those whatchamacallits someday. 

“What?” I said because I hadn’t expected you to come up. Dora had invited me to stargaze up on her roof and listen to music made while we waited for August, she never invited you. Maybe the moment had gotten to her, existentialism didn’t come as easy to her as it did to August. 

She sighed and ran a hand through her bright yellow hair, ripping at the tangles, “ _Bismillah_ , sorry. Dumb question, of course you feel bad. I meant…” she paused and looked at me, I could see the words forming on her lips, “do you feel, like, _guilty_ about it?”

“What?” I said again, this time because I couldn’t find the words to answer, “What are you talking about?” 

“You don’t have to answer but...you always talk about her _accident_ like you caused it. Like you had some _power_ to stop it and just chose not to.” she continued, snapping open a can of some brand of soda I’d never heard of, “I’m just curious, I guess.” 

I stared down at my hands, tracing the lines where white met brown. I remember the day it happened so clearly, Erika, I think I could recite the call from your mom telling me what had happened verbatim, backwards and forwards; the way it had felt like a knife had gone clean through my chest and served every vital vein and artery and pulse. And yet, I’m still standing. Your missed call was right below your mom’s voicemail in my recents. I still tried to call you back afterwards, _still_. And yet, here I am, sitting on a roof, hands gripping the tiles. 

“Rosewood?” Dora’s hand laid warmly against my back, cutting through the cold and the shaking, “Shit.” she muttered, “I’m sorry, just, just forget I said anything okay?” 

“I didn’t call her back in time.” I said because it’s the truth, “She called me an hour before it happened and I-I was in the shower and I missed it an-and I didn’t call back in time.” 

Her brow furrowed, she squinted, “Rosewood…it, it was a _car accident_. You couldn’t have done anything.” I laughed, I don’t know why. Dora didn’t laugh. “You know that, right?”

There were a million things I could’ve done. You’d told me once that I was good for you, that if you ever got too deep you’d know I’d pull you out. You were wrong―you got in too deep and I let you drown. 

I have the text you sent after I missed your call. You were so angry with me, you had every right to be. _I let you drown._

During the funeral your family had asked me to speak. You would’ve hated something about that―whether it was your family asking me or me saying yes, I don’t know. It just felt like the right thing to do, you know? They kept calling me your _best friend_ , everybody at school kept asking me what happened because I was your _best friend,_ I knew what they were all thinking: You were her best friend, how could you let this happen? You had never even called me your best friend―you thought it was too ‘ _middle school’_ , remember?―but suddenly it was everything I was to you. 

I had worn a black dress and stockings to your funeral, made myself as small as possible. I was tired of questions and condolences and I wanted it to be over. I got up to the podium right in front of your casket with all the flowers and mumbled through a speech my mom had helped me write. I don’t remember what I said, I just remember staring at your family as I tried to be your best friend. I buried all those things you'd said about them and smiled and said you loved them, removing the sword that had so, so rightfully been held against their throats. And then I buried you.

Now, I sit on a roof with somebody you’ll never meet waiting for another person you’ll never meet and I had gone a whole day without thinking of you. 

Dora paused the music, the whole of Little Raven seemed to hold its breath, “Hey, c’mere.” she wrapped her arms around me, stroking my hair with a tenderness she never showed her own. Her heartbeat thumped against my chest, “It wasn’t your fault.”

I let myself melt against her touch, just a little. I wasn’t worth the warmth but she gave it anyways.

“Y’know, my uncle died when I was about one or two,” Dora said suddenly, I blinked in confusion, “Never met him, he still lived in Egypt and had been trying to find money for a plane ticket to finally meet me when he died. It was a heart attack, real random, nobody saw it coming. He was young but, _tch_ ,” she shrugged, “you spend your whole life overworking yourself and sometimes it catches up. He’d wanted to immigrate to America too just like my parents. Spent years and years filling out the papers, getting the petitions, shit like that but he just...he just died before he got here to live the whole ‘American Dream’.” Dora hummed, “And my dad blames himself. Still. Thinks that if he and my mom had stayed in Egypt for just a bit longer he would’ve been able to...I dunno, stop it? And that’s such a life-ruining thing to think, that you and you alone were the one missing link. That if you had just _been in Egypt_ or _answered a phone call_ then somebody would still be there. But you know what, Rosewood?” she pulled back, forcing me to look her dead in the eyes. She brushed away burgeoning tears with her thumb, “People die. People get heart attacks and people crash cars and you can’t stop it. No matter how hard you try―it’s part of the whole human mortality deal.” 

“I know.” I muttered, my voice warbling. “I _know_ but...God, maybe if―”

“Yeah. Maybe.” she interrupted, “But _maybe_ means that even if you had answered that call, she still would’ve crashed. Maybe means that nobody will ever know, we can’t go back in time, Rosewood. All we can do is cry and move on.” Her hands cupped my jaw, Dora smiled softly, ignoring the fat tears hitting her palms. “We’ve got you. Me and August. We’ve got you.” 

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and let myself be pulled closed, “Yeah, you do. Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it, that’s what friends are for, right?” 

“Right.” I whispered. _I don’t deserve this,_ I thought. _I’m going to let you drown,_ I didn’t say. 


End file.
